There were 18 seconds left in the game. The Lakers had the ball, down by one point, and were going to hold it for the final shot of the exciting 6th game of the playoff series…and my son started to cry. “Well that’s a new experience!” I thought. It was time for him to eat; he knew it and I knew it. “Oh, not right now, buddy! Can you wait 30 seconds?” Still unable to comprehend English, he let out another cry. Crap. You see, I was in a special physical position that had helped the Lakers perform well over the last minute of the game, and I didn’t want to move from it yet. (I do too have those powers!) I made some shushing sounds and watched as Kobe’s jumper bounced off the rim right into my homeboy Pau’s hands for a tip-in (and the lead!) with 0.5 seconds on the clock. I leapt up from the couch giddily and scooped my son out of his bouncy seat. I then became his bouncy seat as I jumped up and down in excitement repeatedly with him clutched to my chest and we watched Pau’s shot over and over again on replay during the ensuing timeout.
The little feller hadn’t calmed down yet, so I sang to him a little. This time though, it was more of a chant: “No fouls, good D, no fouls, good D!” It seemed to be working, and I wanted to make sure the Lakers themselves got the message, so I kept bouncing and chatting all the way through the Thunder’s missed shot at the buzzer. Victory was ours – all of ours: The Lakers won the game (with my help), my son “watched” his first series-clinching Laker victory, and it was now food time. I’m pretty sure that makes it a win-win-win situation. Gotta love those. (And if you think I’m not picking him up and chanting the same way the next time the Lakers need a big stop of defense, you clearly don’t know me at all.)
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